


I Will Do The Honors

by Oakenbranch



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha!Thorin, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Omega!Bilbo, One Shot, Set After Roast Mutton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oakenbranch/pseuds/Oakenbranch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can make yourself at home away from the camp, if need be." The voice of Gandalf interrupts Bilbo's instinctive day dreams about his front possibly being pressed up against a tree and one of the more muscular, larger Dwarves in the company crowding against him from behind. Oh, that would just be lovely...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Do The Honors

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVEN'T WRITTEN ANYTHING IN LIKE A YEAR AND LATELY I'VE BEEN SO THIRSTY FOR OMEGAVERSE SO

It had started as just a peculiar scent everyone could barely smell if they had concentrated enough. Kili made some backhanded comment about how it was produced by the fact that everyone hadn't bathed in some random (most likely dirty) stream they found along their path, which brought some grunted "aye"s from the company who currently yearned for such. It was clear that it wasn't that, though, because the smell was... nice. For most, it brought warmth to their bellies they hadn't felt since they were back in their respected homes. For the rest, it had their face heating up because they knew exactly what it was.

After the first day, the aroma got stronger and it finally registered to the rest of the company what was going on. All eyes had gradually moved to Bilbo throughout the period of the long, hot day of traveling by foot. The Hobbit in question made sure to offer some kind of awkward smile before looking down at his feet in embarrassment. He would apologize if it weren't for his undoubted urge to pretend like he wasn't guilty. It'd completely slipped his mind, when he made the sudden decision to grab nothing but his walking stick and his coat before running out his freshly painted (and freshly ruined, thank you, Gandalf) door, to snatch a small bag of suppressants from his bathroom counter.

Now, there was no other choice than to go through his heat with the eyes of several starving alphas staring at him from time to time. Still, while that description does seem to make the situation sound more dangerous than it is, Bilbo has little to no worry. He hasn't been on his adventure for very long, but what he's gathered so far, Dwarves are very strict creatures. They keep to their traditions, and one of those said traditions is to only mate within your race. That is, that's what Ori had told him. Perhaps it made the statement less reliable, considering Bilbo was offered such information whilst the company drank away on the alcohol stolen from Bilbo's home which they had stashed in a few rather large pouches. And, maybe, Ori had said Dwarves "usually" mate within their own race, and not "only" mate within their own race.

Bilbo can't find himself recalling the specific details that afternoon when Thorin calls from the very front of the long line of hairy creatures to make camp and get as much rest as possible. He's on his first real day of his heat, the one previous just being the starting pheromones wafting from his skin and into the greedy nostrils of Bilbo's new friends, and the empty feeling in the pit of his stomach is starting to become noticeable. Bilbo rests a palm against his belly, while grabbing his bag from his shoulders with one hand and plopping it down against a tree. He only hopes he can get through a few days of sweating and wanting nothing more than a few good, thick fingers (or something more, he doesn't like to call himself a very selfish Hobbit) pressed against his insides without actually going out of his way to get it.

"You can make yourself at home away from the camp, if need be." The voice of Gandalf interrupts Bilbo's instinctive day dreams about his front possibly being pressed up against a tree and one of the more muscular, larger Dwarves in the company crowding against him from behind. Oh, that would just be lovely...

"Would it?" The wizard speaks again, and Bilbo could curse his name at speaking out loud if it weren't for his rather lustfully sounding answer being along the lines of what he would have said to Gandalf if he were actually paying attention.

"Actually," Bilbo looks around him with a flush already rising to his cheeks. He wants Gandalf not to know about his humiliating situation, it somehow being worse than Thorin possibly knowing. Does Thorin know? he must have smelled Bilbo by now. "yes. I think it would be for the best." The small Hobbit decides as he reaches for his bag again, free hand patting the sword at his waist recently given to him by Gandalf.

"You know how to use it?" An amusing expression strikes Gandalf then, the old Wizard resting all ten of his fingers around his wooden staff as he leaned on it.

No. No, Bilbo knew very well how not to use a sword, why would he? "Can't be too hard, can it? Besides, I suppose if I do find trouble, I can always call out. Everyone seems very... quick, around here." Bilbo regrets his last sentence. It strikes him with an image of clothed hips, rutting forward before giving a thrust as fast as lightning. Without another word, Bilbo clears his throat and wonders off past a few bushes, stopping when he can just barely register the sound of everyone else chattering some ways behind him. That's good. This is good. He can handle this.

Except, he can't. Not later that night, when the back of his neck breaks out in a cold sweat whenever he lets his mind wander, and the smell of food cooking far away doesn't phase him because he's too busy laying down on a soft space of dirt with his crotch throbbing, feeling oh so sorry for himself. Bilbo thinks that because he's usually brought his supper no matter where he is, that Bofur would be calling out his name any moment, and if Bilbo were caught at that said moment with both hands down his trousers and a weak mewl of "yes" coming from his lips, it would be a very embarrassing thing for the both of them, indeed. Though, then again... if Bofur did show up, and Bilbo did have his hands down his pants, Bofur would be so kind as to offer some help of his own. No strings attached, maybe. Just two friends of a different species sharing each others company.

An hour goes by - or, at least, Bilbo thinks it might be an hour, because soon the smell of food fades and the light of the fire in the distance is brighter due to its contrast against the dark night throwing itself over him and the company. He's miserable, with his shoulder blades resting against a tree stump and his hands resting, trembling atop his thighs. Oh, what things he would give to be thrown against the ground by a stranger and mercilessly fucked 'til he doesn't feel hungry anymore. By things, Bilbo means his precious silverware and Grandpa Mungo's chair, both things very valuable to him and his home.

When Bilbo can no longer sense that they're having rabbit for dinner with tasteless greens, he loses his sense of composure. His sword is unsheathed by his clumsy fingers and laid beside him as Bilbo wiggles down onto his back and works at the buttons of his green vest. The clips on his suspenders are snapped open, and he wastes no time at the brass keeping his pants comfortably snug around his waist. When Bilbo's palms are against his bare to the crisp night air arousal, he nearly forgets to keep his mouth shut.

"Couldn't Oin make something?" Fili breaks the silence in the circle of red-faced Dwarves, all who had been suffering through the waves of the scent of a weak, desperate omega for far too long. Their dinner had been eaten in silence, and much like Bilbo guessed, Bofur did try to bring a separate bowl to their Burglar, only to be shot down by the harsh denial from Thorin

"Not with what little supplies I've got!" Oin blurts as if he were insulted, and afterward everyone's gaze drifts off to Gandalf, who sits outside the group smoking his pipe like he wasn't affected by it all.

Gandalf notices immediately, of course, though he doesn't bother to take a pause from his relaxing weed until he feels like Dwalin is about to curse at him to speak up. "He'll be fine," Gandalf waves a hand. "a Hobbit's heat lasts no longer than three nights-"

"Why is that?" Ori pipes up, looking as interested as Bilbo been the night he learned just an ounce of Dwarven culture himself.

"Why? Well, it's far easier for them to reproduce than Dwarves. It doesn't take much to get them... riled up, I should call it." Deciding that his words were enough, Gandalf closes his eyes and goes back to his pipe. Though, just seconds later he grumbles mostly to himself, "Very eager, however, when going through the whole ordeal. Quite surprised our little fellow hasn't gone out of his way to woo one of you." Gandalf chuckles at this.

After his barely useful (like always) words, few of the Dwarves exchange glances with each other, until Bofur begins to stand up cautiously. Sensing his purpose for such a thing, Thorin is suddenly pushing himself to his feet and looking as prepared as ever to either yell, threaten or worse. Without any hesitation, Bofur's bum plants itself back down on the ground, and he's fiddling with his finger-less gloves like a poor babe being scolded for wondering off from his mother in public. Thorin straightens himself and looks down at the silent members of his company, before turning on one massive heel and walking off in the direction of the intoxicating smell as if he were currently sizing up an Orc.

In reality, that metaphorical Orc was a Hobbit, currently rolling his hips up and down, rocking himself back against the three finger he's taken his sweet, sweet time to push into himself, and releasing pitiful puffs of air whenever he reminds himself that breathing is more important than reaching a climax, which he hasn't had since he started. It isn't surprising that Bilbo initially doesn't take notice of the sound of heavy boots coming closer and closer to him, but when Thorin's getting on his knees beside him, what strikes Bilbo then is something far better than anything Bilbo's imagined smelling before. Which makes sense, considering he's never had the honor of smelling an alpha Dwarf in all of its majesty.

It takes a few seconds before Bilbo decides to open his eyes, as he does spend a few moments to wonder who it might've been that came up to him like this, but when he does finally look up and register the furry face glaring down at him, it might've been the most surprising face of all.  
Thorin.

Thorin, who insulted him a week ago when they met. Thorin, who looked at Bilbo as if he were a burden to the entire company and would end up having them all killed in some freak accident. Thorin... who looked like he was about to yell.

"You are a miserable distraction." His voice cuts through Bilbo's mind like butter, his hands still and he shuts his mouth, which doesn't stop his heavy breathing. Bilbo parts his lips moments later, though finds he has nothing to say. When it comes to Thorin, there really isn't anything to do than wait and listen to what he has to express. "As far as I understand, you are here as our Burglar- a job for you to fulfill when we reach the Mountain, a job that may have to wait due to how far behind schedule you will end up putting us so that you have the time to care to your needs, apparently." Bilbo swallows, a small whimper escaping him. "Perhaps you didn't grasp the notion that our quest has a deadline, and the longer you lie here, making your noises and treating yourself as if you deserve pleasure for what business you put me and my men through with the three Trolls a few nights back, the easier it is to not meet that time frame."

Thorin's leaning closer the more he talks, Bilbo eventually being able to see Thorin's dilated pupils clearly and feel his haughty breath as if he were some sort of dragon with no concept of personal space. With Bilbo's condition, he only finds this all heating him up far more than he would care to admit (and, really, he would admit many things right now. Like how much he just wants to close the distance between he and this rude, stubborn excuse for a King). "I would allow Bofur to come over to your play area," Thorin sighs, moving steadily in between Bilbo's parted thighs. He grabs at the Hobbit's wrists and pulls his hands out from under the fabric of his trousers while he continues. "and he would tend to you, I do not doubt. However, I do not trust him enough not to claim you for his own for the rest of your life. We cannot have that, can we?" The question has Bilbo giving a small nod, mainly just to do something while his pants and garments under them are being slowly stripped from his legs. "So, I will do the honors." Thorin finishes his speech with a grin, unbuckling his belt louder than really necessary and ignoring the sudden whines of want and eagerness Bilbo breathes out after being reassured that Thorin hadn't come to just insult him.

When Thorin finally goes to press two fingers against Bilbo's naturally stretched opening, his belt and sword are thrown carelessly to the side, and his trousers are gaping in the center from where he's undone their bindings carelessly. Bilbo's more than vocal with his pleasure in this, he scratches at Thorin's biceps and struggles to maintain a grip on his armor sleeves for longer than five seconds. His legs are spread far wider than Thorin previously thought possible, but he supposes it's a good thing considering it gives him more room to press up into him and have his hand comfortably set in between Bilbo's cheeks. As soon as the pads of his fingers make contact with the wet entrance there, Bilbo cries out purely from the anticipation finally being broken.

"My," Thorin hums through his smug smile, leaning down and pressing his nose against Bilbo's happily bared neck. He inhales and kisses the skin there, slipping one finger teasingly inside his new mate. "Gandalf failed to mention how moist a male Hobbit can be when he's... desperate." Thorin can't clearly be heard, for Bilbo's lifting his hips in the air and trying to push back as much as he can in the midst of his urgent noises. While Thorin's fingers may be thick, they're disappointingly short.

"Spare me your teasing," Bilbo gasps, slapping one of Thorin's arms weakly and breathing against one of his pierced ears. "You came here to help me so that I don't slow you down... Yes? Fuck me and let that be that, then." He doesn't know exactly where his bravery came from, but later Bilbo will tell himself it was his Took side. Now, though, he doesn't care where it came from. What he cares about is the squelch of Thorin removing the digit and, within a few agonizingly slow seconds, replacing it with what Bilbo can guess is the blunt head of his cock.

Bilbo keens at this, holding his breath and letting the back of his skull dig into the soft dirt under him with his stress. Thorin abides by Bilbo's wants, however, and thrusts his hips forward smoothly after just a moment, and doesn't care to wait until Bilbo's done moaning out like he was to pull back and enter once again. While Thorin doesn't grunt or groan or curse, more concentrated on wrapping his muscular arms under Bilbo's hips and holding him against his wider body, the exact Hobbit being held is trembling and releasing the most lewd noises. In the midst of them, there's the audible "Oh, fuck me," and even the poor taunt, "I had imagined a King to be stronger than this," which does well enough in making Thorin eventually growl and pick up his pace.

Bilbo's like a rag doll when Thorin straightens his back, and while keeping his arms looped around his quivering prize, rolls his lower half forward in languid movements. He hangs there, is the only way Thorin would care to describe it. When the initial pleasure subsides into pure bliss for Bilbo, he goes slack everywhere, other than his legs which are strongly and possessively wrapped around Thorin's waist. It isn't like Thorin minds though, he would rather admire the view of this silly little creature Gandalf thinks is clever enough to sneak past a dragon. Perhaps Bilbo may be useless to the journey, but what he's surprisingly good at is creating a pretty picture. Not to mention clenching around Thorin's cock whenever he successfully meets with his prostate.

After some time, Thorin turns Bilbo over onto his stomach, using one of his sweating palms to press the Hobbit's chest down onto the ground while keeping his ass still perfectly raised in the air. Thorin thrusts into him again like this, and this time Bilbo's steady enough to push back against him despite how weak his legs might be and how violently his thighs tremble. Thorin leans over his back and rests his hands at either of Bilbo's sides, rutting into him until Bilbo's cries go high pitched and frequent.

"If I were to touch you," Thorin muses, pressing a soft peck at the back of Bilbo's neck, "how quickly would you cum? How tight would you be if I knotted you?"

"Don't do that." Bilbo hisses, reaching down and grabbing himself at his base, resistant to finishing when he's come so far and has something so good. Thorin has different ideas though, and he's forcing Bilbo's hand away from himself and grabbing Bilbo's cock himself. Squeezing tightly, Thorin brings the taut foreskin forward as he exhales against the smaller creature's pointed ear. "I will do as I please. Now, tell me; who did you think about claiming you like this before I arrived? Who did you want to have you on this bacteria laced ground until you were... well, how you are now? Shaking like a jelly, I bet if I asked you to beg, you would do it without hesitation, would you not? You would kill to feel the pain of my knot- something very much on the way, if you keep panting and moaning how you are. So dirty and vulnerable. I want you like this all the time. However, next time you have to be sure to tell me about this sooner. I want to be able to be the one to prepare you, with my mouth, if need be."

At this, Thorin opens his mouth wide and scrapes his top row of teeth against the flushed skin of Bilbo's neck. The sensation feeling as if he were bitten, Bilbo can't hold himself, and he convulses instantly. His hips stutter forward, each of his muscles spasm and he cums wildly into Thorin's hand. The Dwarf atop of him being eager to finish himself pulls away and grabs Bilbo's waist in a strong hold, thrusting forward one, two, three more times until he crashed the knot that had been slowly growing at the beginning of his length inside Bilbo's body and releases his copious amount of seed. It's the only time he really groans, and it's more of a roar, if anything.

Once Thorin's throbs have subsided and he keeps himself properly embedded inside Bilbo, he rests his chest against Bilbo's shaking back. "Was that enough to soothe you?" He asks confidently, all too prepared to hear a "yes" and a "thank you" following it.

"I want it again." Is all Bilbo says between his pants, acting as if he hadn't just had the best orgasm of his life and wiggling his ass against Thorin's crotch hungrily.


End file.
